Aftermath
by Veluphora
Summary: Post-series. Focused on the lives of Malfoy and the Golden trio after Voldemort is defeated. Discontinued - which is why it leaves off so suddenly (I wrote this a long time ago...it may still be updated, but it's unlikely - making its status complete). But feel free to read, hopefully enjoy, and correct any mistakes.


Disclaimer: I don't own Harry Potter or its characters - all rights go to the exceptionally talented J.K. Rowling.  


VvVvV

With Voldemort gone and the Death Eaters being singularly rounded up into Azkaban, Harry had a very shrewd idea of what he was going to be doing for the next few years and who he was going to be spending it with.

Firstly, there was the matter of school. Since many of the students' educations had been disrupted by the wizarding war, Harry, Ron, and Hermione's included, there would be several older additions to every year, seventh year being the thickest. It was immediately determined, by Mr. and Mrs. Weasley and by Hermione's parents after Hermione had repaired their memories, that the trio would resume their post war education at Hogwarts, rather than at Beauxbatons, Durmstrang, or a quickly set up remedial school like a fair few of the others.

Harry thought it felt strange to be going back after so much had happened, yet relieving as well. There was always a comfort in familiarity, however unwelcome it may have been at the start. Comfort, in the knowledge of the near future. Hermione agreed.

Ron, on the other hand, felt it a bit titchy to be returning when they ought to be celebrating.

"Oh, Ron! You know we have to finish our schooling!" said Hermione reproachfully, causing Harry to glance up from his _Daily Prophet_ reading in Grimmauld Place. However, he soon continued averting his attention to the paper, for this no longer gave him much alarm, as Hermione and Ron's bickering now generally ended in snogging, which Harry had no desire to see.

They would return to the school on the first of August, and were packing in preparation for their equivocated year.

"Who's the Headmaster going to be, do you reckon?" wondered Ron.

"Probably some horrid Ministry woman," suggested Harry, absorbed in the newspaper Hermione had received, for she was the only one still taking the subscription.

"That would be Head_mistress_, Harry. And no, they'll want to portray themselves in good light and get someone halfway decent this time," sighed Hermione in a bored voice, flipping through wrinkled pages of the _Quibbler_ as though she were deciding whether to bring it along. "Our new Minister seems quite accommodating."

That was true, thought Harry. Kingsley Shacklebolt was more than up for the job. He would be sure to get it right.

"That would be me," announced a deep voice, smiling at them as he entered the room. "And I have news on that score, too, about the new Headmaster," Kingsley told the room at large. "Or, should I say, Head_mistress_."

"Who?" Ron questioned immediately.

"Professor McGonagall," replied Kingsley, continuing to smile. Harry exchanged a grin with Ron while Hermione beamed.

"That's perfect," exclaimed Hermione, lighting up. Harry and Ron agreed, saying,

"Excellent!"

"Yes, it is, but we'll have to appoint a new Transfiguration teacher as well," said Kingsley, rolling his eyes. "There are so many applications…well…" He frowned. "I've just left it to her to sort out. She would know best in that instance, anyhow," he reassured himself, shaking off his look of worry.

"She'll be great, Kingsley," laughed Ron, watching Hermione cram all of her books into her trunk, which were too many to fit even after she had shrunk them. "What've you got there, a whole library?" he asked, a little incredulous, a little expectant, and a half curious in spite of himself.

"Well, if you must know, I've received study grants from the – oh, never mind," she mumbled, sounding slightly harassed. "And how many Chudley Cannons posters do you have in _your_ trunk?" accused Hermione, bending to buckle her own. Ron reddened.

"That's different," he stated. Kingsley gave a throaty chuckle.

"Is it?" she mused mockingly, as though Ron should think about his answer some more before he came to her with it. Ron opened his mouth, ever ready to retort.

Harry did not say anything, ignoring them as they pointed fingers at each other. He was glad that she had not taken the other route, of attempting to elucidate her educational endeavors to Ron with possibly long winded and repetitive explanations, not only because he probably would not understand them, but also because it would probably only result in an eventual shouting match, which would lead to another standoff in which he was the go between, which would lead to yet _another_ snogging scene in which they eventually made up. He also would have been glad that this diversion would deflect them from him, had he been thinking about it. But his thoughts were elsewhere.

Ginny. He knew that they could be back together now, and the thought elated him. He was somewhat worried that she would not want to, however. Not now, when there was, not only quite a giant's load going on, but also after so much time had passed. There had not been much time to talk to her, in all the chaos that had followed. Surely she did not still feel the same – not after she'd had so long to get over it.

But Harry, he hadn't gotten over it, had he? So, then, it was possible, that _she_ hadn't gotten over it as well…

Drifting in these thoughts as though they were a hazy dream, Harry did not realize that he had fallen asleep until Ron shook him awake.

"Oi, mate," he greeted, clambering back over to the nearest bed. He was wearing different pajamas, which Harry noticed had tiny brass goal hoops knitted all over them, somewhat hidden by the dark brown background. Harry took them to represent Ron's position as Keeper on the Gryffindor Quidditch team, which McGonagall had informed them was going to be up and running the same as it had been their sixth year. "Mum just thought you'd like a spot of dinner before bed, so I came and woke you up. You didn't look like you'd gotten a good night's sleep in ages, so she told me to stay put until then. Hermione, too, and I wasn't about to argue. All right, then?"

"Yeah," muttered Harry, rubbing the sleep from his eyes. "Just tired. Where's everyone else?" he asked Ron, rather wearily.

"Bed, mostly." The two boys hurried downstairs, unsurprised at the huge quantity of people there. The Order of the Phoenix had expanded significantly over the course of a few weeks, now, as Hermione had darkly but rightly supposed, that most of the danger was over. Of course, not all of them were to be entrusted with the knowledge of Grimmauld Place as headquarters, or other items of importance, the majority of them "just jumping on the bandwagon", as Ron put it. But there were still quite a few people packed into the reasonably well proportioned building, which should have been able to handle a considerable amount of overflow. As it was, many of those who had been deemed worthy were now sleeping in the kitchen, hallways, or even Kreacher's secluded boiler room.

The elf had originally put up a great fuss when people had barged into his living space and then demanded it, but had eventually been persuaded to take to a smaller portion in the drawing room that more suited his size, if only for a while. Harry had been able to convince him that no one would dare harm his room only when he had given the threat to its occupants that he would expel them from the premises if necessary, and, as Kreacher hastened to add, if they showed any disrespect whatsoever to the boiler room and its possessions. He had also been induced into casting a couple of protective enchantments upon the room, before Kreacher would agree to stop voicing his concern for it at the dinner table.

As it was, what with the overcrowding and the noise begotten from it, Harry couldn't help feeling relieved to be getting away from it all, though he would miss Sirius's room, the only room he had not allowed anyone else, apart from Ron and Hermione, to enter. He had blocked it off from the horde using a magical barrier of Hermione's own invention. She had recently given in to the temptation to experiment and create new spells, and although she was going about it with extreme caution and delicacy, had lately produced several astounding and immensely helpful varieties.

Another good thing that had come out of the throng was that someone had actually managed to weaken the Permanent Sticking Charm that had been put upon the portrait of Sirius's mum, so that they had finally been able to replace her picture with a much better one of Dumbledore, another feature that Harry would miss, having spent many an hour conversing with it. He thought Hermione would miss it as well, although for an entirely different reason. Although she had tried to hide her lengthy conversations with it by using _Muffliato_, a charm she had previously disapproved of, and then _Protego_, you could only talk to a picture for so long without being discovered. Harry had caught her trying to learn Mermish from it when he had emerged from his room late at night for a glass of water. She had instantly flushed a light pink, and made him promise not to mention it to Ron, whom, she was sure, would mock her for her attempts at a different language. She had then requested that Harry teach her Parseltongue, to which Harry had, somewhat reluctantly, agreed. Not only did she appear to have a new interest in the creation of spells and language, which Harry was certain was merely part of her vast quest for knowledge, but she also seemed to prefer strangers' company as of late, to which Harry could find no clear reason, however he tried.

Ron, on the other hand, had not seemed to notice these slight alterations in her character, which was why he did not raise an eyebrow as Harry did when they saw her wrapped in a deep discussion with a tall Slytherin boy who had freshly been admitted into the flock. Instead, he looked rather surly. Harry thought that, this time, it was not only his intolerance of the Slytherins that caused these feelings, but also the boy's closeness to Hermione, judging how he was eyeing the boy as though he were afraid of being outdone.

Harry approached Hermione, fully with the intention of interrogating her until she spun around, her eyes brimming with tears. He glanced quickly at Ron, but Ron had not seen, he was still staring at the Slytherin boy with intense dislike, and Harry realized, with a jolt, that the boy was Draco Malfoy.

He had not recognized him on account of his severe frailty – Malfoy was thinner, so much thinner and paler than the last time Harry had seen him. He looked quite sick, as though he were on the verge of hurling. His hair and face was so white blonde it seemed as though he were barely there. What, in the name of Merlin's shapeless slacks, could have possibly brought him here? Or, more importantly, how could he have been _permitted_ in here?

Harry had no time to further his thoughts – Hermione had run away from Malfoy, she was disappearing into a neighboring hallway before he could gather himself. After recovering from this unpleasant shock, he hesitated for a second on whether to apprehend her or Malfoy, but Ron had beaten him to the chase, rushing toward Malfoy with a look of pure venom.

Deciding that he would leave Ron to handle it, he started to follow Hermione, but then another interruption arrived in the form of Phineas Nigellus.

"It's Dumbledore," he drawled, disinterestedly. "He wishes to speak with you."

"Er, good," stammered Harry, fighting to keep up with Hermione and confer with the portrait at the same time. "Look, I've got to – "

"I will inform him that you are busy," the past Slytherin Headmaster of Hogwarts opted, vanishing into some adjacent frame.

Harry ducked into a couple of close hallways, but could locate Hermione in none of them. Slightly disheartened, he checked only a few more before beginning to search the rooms linked to them, and did not notice someone trailing slowly behind him until whoever it was tapped him on the shoulder.

"Hey!" he shouted, whirling around in alarm to see her standing there, eyeing him sheepishly. Startled, he stopped a minute, then warbled a small "sorry", finding that her eyes were still filled with water.

She smiled at him, weakly, he thought. Transferring his gaze to the floor, Harry saw her shift a little. "I've made a mess of things, haven't I? I've got to tell you, now."

"You haven't 'got to' do anything," he objected, looking up at her quickly.

"It's all right, Harry," she said, though Harry sensed she was lying. "I'll – um, catch up with you later." His gaze flickered toward her, and he saw that the streams on her face were not yet dry.

"Right," he affirmed, discerning her desire to depart. He had about as much wish to deal with female waterworks himself as she did for him to perceive them. He could stand to wait a short while longer for her explanation, if it meant that her explanation would not be accompanied by tears.

No sooner had Hermione gone than Malfoy reappeared.

" – can't be moved until – no, no, the twenty eighth of September – I can't imagine what – Valdalç wants them slewn by the second – "

Harry had become a statue, standing very still as he absorbed these snippets of information and simultaneously tried to memorize them. Draco did not appear to notice Harry, and continued conversing quickly into his wand tip, as though, Harry thought, with a childish Muggle walkie talkie.

He had just gotten to something about the wizard Valdalç's orders, something involving a dragon, when Harry's foot slid into a hallway table, tipping it sideways and sweeping a flowerpot onto the floor, interrupting his discussion.

Malfoy's head jerked upright, alarmed and searching for the source of the noise. "Who's there?" Harry was not altogether reassured to hear that there was no longer a nervous, frightened tremor in his voice, as there had been on the one occasion the two had both entered the Forbidden Forest in their first year.

Harry dared not speak, but he dared not keep silent. So, pulling out his wand, he began slinking toward the closest doorway.

Purple sparks came out of Malfoy's wand, though Malfoy had not said anything. Harry remembered uncomfortably that they had been learning nonverbal spells in their last year at Hogwarts.

"Show yourself," demanded Draco, his wand quivering slightly in the air, the only sign of his apprehension, only caught by Harry's exceptional Seeker eyes.

"Hello, Draco," another voice greeted, new to neither of them. Harry almost choked in surprise. What could Greyback have to do with Malfoy? Among all the Dark creatures that Malfoy had detested, or at least not liked, Greyback had to have been among the top few. It was possible that Greyback had only ventured upon this place due to circumstance.

But, Harry thought, the meeting looked planned. Malfoy was looking at Greyback not with shock, but with disgust, as though he could barely stand talking to him. Harry knew that face very well, having seen it for all his time at Hogwarts.

"Greyback," Malfoy returned, stiffly, Harry thought. "That was you lurking in the corridor?" he asked, for Greyback had emerged near the shadows where Harry hid.

"I don't 'lurk'," Greyback stated, offended. Malfoy nodded, but Harry noticed with relief that there was still skepticism on his face.

"You're sure you weren't followed?"

"I am sure," answered Greyback, coldly.

"Then to the matter at hand," continued Malfoy, " – the Tripod Quarterlet."

"She was safely transported, before you ask," growled Greyback. "Valdalç had her use the dragons. But she will be caught by the dementors soon if she doesn't stop sending you those damn letters."

"She'd stop if you'd tell her I told you to tell her that," Malfoy informed him, turning white. He cleared his throat before going on. "Anyway, the Quarterlets pose a problem, a threat to her safety. Can you take them out?" Harry felt his eyes widen in horror. Greyback smiled, revealing several darkened teeth.

"With pleasure," he rumbled. Malfoy couldn't repress a shiver.

"I want them gone by the twenty fifth. _Not_ dead," added Draco.

"Not _dead_," agreed Greyback, grinning widely. What, Harry thought, would possibly force Draco to deal with Greyback, whom he was clearly repulsed by?

"Until later, then," said Malfoy brusquely, seeming to Harry to want to get away from Greyback as soon as possible as he vanished down the corridor.

VvVvV


End file.
